


Fair Trade

by Dhellan



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dhellan/pseuds/Dhellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In lieu of payment for his work, Foggy gets slave!Matt.<br/>Kinkmeme prompt-fill</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.dhellan.tumblr.com
> 
> Prompt:  
> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=2976974#cmt2976974
> 
> WIP Fill:  
> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=16662734#cmt16662734

 

Foggy spun his pen in his hand. Benny Fogwell was sitting in the chair across from his desk, nervously bouncing his foot and acting disturbingly twitchy. Drugs?

With any luck, this would be their last meeting.

This wasn’t one of Foggy’s usual cases. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have taken it on at all, but he’d been low on cash, and Karen needed to get paid. In Foggy's defence, back when he took Benny on as client Benny hadn’t looked so much like a meth addict going through withdrawal.

It should have been straightforward, quick cash. What it had become, quite frankly, was a mess.  The estate had been a disaster, the will was a joke written twenty years ago.

For the millionth time, Foggy reminded himself that looks could be deceiving. Benjamin Fogwell had come to him a month earlier, smartly dressed, money ready. That hadn’t lasted long. Foggy wasn’t sure exactly what the problem was, but over the past month, Benny Fogwell had become erratic and bad-tempered. Fortunately, this would be the end of it, Foggy had finally unraveled the mess that was Fogwell’s Gym; Benny Fogwell had inherited his father’s estate and with one final signature all of the Late Murphy Fogwell’s possessions would official be his.

Benny signed the paper.

Thank God. Foggy was glad to see him go. All that was left was to settle the final bill.

Benny laughed. “I don’t have that kind of cash. How about this?” He flipped through his papers and passed over the registration and deed of one of the assets Foggy had just spent the past month working on transferring into Benny’s possession.

“What’s this?”

“My dad’s slave.”

Foggy slammed his pen down on the desk in exasperation. “I know what it is. I mean, why are you passing it to me.”

“Cause he’s yours now,” Benny grunted. “I ain’t got no use for him, and he’s worth more than this bill here is. Keep him, sell him, whatever.”

Foggy sighed. This was far different than being paid in rhubarb pie. “I don’t need a slave.”

“Sell him then. I ain’t got time to make a decent trade. You don’t take him; I’m just taking him down to the pawn shop and get rid of him there, that’ll pay your bill, but you could get three times as much if you clean him up first.” Benny sniffed loudly and cleared what sounded like a thick wad of phlegm in his throat.

Foggy looked at the papers, Benny was right. If the slave was even in half decent condition, he could make money on this. He knew the papers were legally in order, but what about the slave? “He’s disabled.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t work. He did the cleaning over at the gym when dad was still around. Even blind he’s worth more than the legal bill.”

“The last assessment was three years ago. How do I know he’s worth what the registration says?”

“You can take a look at him right now, I left him in the lobby with your secretary.”

“Office manager.” Foggy corrected.

The fact that Benny had apparently planned the whole thing didn’t make Foggy feel any better about it. He was well aware of Benny’s credit history; if he didn’t want to lose a whole month’s worth of work he knew he should take what he was offered. And if the registration papers were correct, he did stand to make a profit if he could manage a decent sale.

“Fine. I’ll take a look.”

Benny jumped up and Foggy followed him of the office. The slave was sitting in one of the lobby chairs, back straight, tense. Ugh, he was a mess.

And, Foggy noticed, they were probably the same age. Foggy winced inwardly and reminded himself that most of the problems were just on  the surface. The slave was dirty, his hair greasy, wearing a grey work suit, heavily stained. There were bruises on his face and his arms. Foggy walked forward and wrinkled his nose at the smell of body odor. A leather collar was buckled around his neck, and the slave's wrists were buckled into leather cuffs attached to a chain. 

If he could clean him up, keep him long enough to let the bruises heal, he could probably make a decent deal at the auction house.

Foggy reached out and picked up the slave’s hand, inspecting slave mark. The slave’s fingers and nails looked undamaged. “Where is his RFID chip?”

“In his left hand, between the thumb and forefinger.” 

Foggy went back to his desk and picked up his phone, turned on the sensor app and held it close to the slave’s hand. A moment later the phone beeped and the general status info appeared on the screen. Everything seemed up to date according to the chip.

“Does he have all his teeth?” Foggy asked.

“Yeah, his teeth are good,” Benny promised and slapped the slave on the back of the head. “Show him.”

The slave opened his mouth, showing his teeth.

Foggy moved the slaves head a bit to get a better view. Straight teeth. The slave’s breath was rancid, but there didn’t seem to be staining on the enamel. There were no gaps. “How many owners has he had?”

Benny pushed the slave around and lifted up his shirt. There were three brands on his back. “He was processed when he was eleven. Three owners aren’t a bad turnover for that many years.”

No, it wasn’t bad.

“You aren’t seriously thinking of doing this are you?” Karen stood up and pulled Foggy aside.

“I seriously think we need to pay the rent.”

Karen glanced back over at the slave and grimaced. “You’ll be lucky to break even.”

She was the one always telling him how much they needed the money. "We can fix him up, get a decent price," he whispered back to her.

He turned back to Benny. “Okay, yeah. I’ll take him,” he said.  “What do you call him?”

“Matthew,” Benny grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

He knew he must keep very still while he waited.

The lawyer’s office smelled like donuts and coffee, the secretary, was wearing a sweet smelling floral perfume and baby powder scented deodorant. Dust and gravel from a near by construction site blew in through the open window along with car exhaust and the noises from the street below. Distant sirens, horns, people yelling at cabs.

He had a chance here. Benny told him he was going to be gifted as payment to the lawyer and not to screw it up. If the lawyer didn't want him the pawnbroker would.

And so, Matt waited and listened in on the conversation Benny was having with the lawyer, Mr. Nelson. Mr. Nelson didn’t want a slave, but his heartbeat quickened slightly at the suggestion of selling at a higher price.

Oh. Well, that was still better than the pawnbroker.

They came out. Benny yanked at his wrist cuffs, and Matt hurried to stand up.  If anyone was going to screw this up, it would be Benny. Matt kept his expression as blank as possible and head down, waiting.

The anticipation he’d sensed off Mr. Nelson earlier disappeared and Matt could only guess what he was seeing. He knew he was dirty, and that he smelled bad. He wanted to plead; _it’s not my fault I can be better than this,_ but he stayed silent.

Owners don't like argumentative slaves.

At least Mr. Nelson didn't reject him outright and agreed to inspect him despite his obvious disappointment. The secretary, no wait, Mr. Nelson told Benny that she was his office manager, was not impressed either. Matt clenched his fist anxiously. If only he could show then how willing he was to work and be useful.

Mr. Nelson agreed to the trade, and Benny pushed him back into the chair even before Matt could release a sigh of relief, and went back into the lawyer’s office to finalize the papers. Done. It was done.

No going back to Fogwell’s Gym. Never again.

On his way out the door, Benny tossed Matt's duffle bag that he'd kept out of sight in the hall into the reception area. It contained Matt's accessories; discipline tools, restraints, and clothing.  Benny had already told him there’d be no going back home at the end of the day. Matt quickly pulled the bag out of the way and towards his feet. And then Benny was gone.

The lawyer, Mr. Nelson, came and leaned against his doorframe, Matt could feel him staring. The office manager was staring too, and Matt resisted the urge to cower under their intense scrutiny. “So, now what?” Mr. Nelson asked. Matt was pretty sure the question had not been aimed at him.

The woman at the desk shrugged, he could hear her hair brush against her shoulders, her blouse rub against her skin. “How should I know?” she asked.

“Can you look it up for me? I’m sure there will be registration papers and stuff I’m going to have to fill out.”

She nodded and the wheels of her chair shifted as she repositioned herself at her computer. The mouse scraped against the wood desk, keyboard tapping.

“Do I have any more clients coming in this afternoon?” Mr. Nelson asked her.

She leaned over, paper rustling, “Mr. Anderson at two-thirty.”

The lawyer sighed. “Well,” he walked across the office, stepped into another room. “We won’t be needing the conference room right?”

She made a humming noise. “I don’t think so.”

Mr. Nelson sighed. “Okay, we can't leave him out here, how about we stick him in there for now.” And then the lawyer walked over so that he was standing right in front of him and crouched down so that their faces were on the same level. “So, Matthew. I’m Foggy. You can call me, Foggy, okay? Do you need anything? Bathroom? When’s the last time you had water?” 

“May I use the bathroom, please?”

Mr. Nelson, _Foggy,_ nodded and then paused. “Oh, sorry. I just nodded. Do you have any vision at all or-?”

“No, nothing,” Matt answered.

“Okay.” Mr. Nelson patted Matt’s shoulder. “Will you be good for me if I unbuckle those wrist cuffs?”

“Yes, sir.” Matt held up his wrists and felt Foggy pull at the strap. The brief tightening to unlatch the buckle was painful and Matt bit his lip. But the leather buckles came off and the air against his skin stung but it felt so _good to have them off._

“Karen,” Foggy called over to his office manager. _Karen._ “Do we have a first aid kit or anything?”

She stood up, pushing the chair back and walking over to the small coffee area. Cupboards opened and closed as she searched. “Yep, still here. What’s wrong?”

“His skin is raw from those cuffs. I’ll take him to the bathroom and be right back, okay?”

Matt felt a hand on his elbow, guiding up and he followed. Foggy didn't pull or squeeze his arm too tight, his hand felt warm and not sweaty. He'd probably make a good owner if he wanted to. 

They walked out into the hall, at the end of the hall near the stairs, Foggy opened a door and flipped on a light and walked inside with him. The tap turned on, and Foggy guided Matt’s arm under the cold stream of water, and Matt shivered.

“This okay?” Foggy asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, all right.” Foggy held Matt’s other wrist under the water as well and then patted the skin dry with a paper towel. “So, I’ll wait outside while you use the bathroom. Um, the toilet is right beside you, there’s a push button on top for flushing, and then wash your hands, there’s a soap dispenser, here.” He guided Matt’s hand up to the wall to feel the plastic case. “Just come out when you’re finished, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Matt answered, and Foggy walked out and closed the door behind him. He did his best to be quick, washed with soap, dried his hands with the paper towel, he didn’t want to make his new owner impatient with him already. And then he was taken back to the law office and led into a room beside Foggy’s, and guided to a chair at a long flat table. Foggy sat beside him, positioned his arm so that it was resting on the table and unzipped a bag, the smell of antiseptic filled his senses. As an alcohol packet was ripped open, its scent making Matt wrinkle his nose, and Foggy dabbed the damp paper on his skin, it felt cool and burning all at once on the scrapes on his wrist. Soft gauze was applied next, wrapped around several times and gently taped in place. Both wrists.

“I’m going to take you back to my place later, get you cleaned up. But, I’ve got another client before I can take off for the day. Uhm.” Foggy got up, took the first aid kit with him, and left the room. Matt heard him moving things around; a mini fridge door opened, sloshing liquid poured into a glass, and then Foggy came back. “I’ve got a donut, and a glass of water here. Are you good for now?”

The donut- it was fresh. Chocolate dip. _Fresh._ Matt’s hand shook with anticipation. He forced himself to be still. “Yes, sir.”

Foggy patted his shoulder again. “Ok, I’ll get you when I’m ready. Until then, if you need anything just ask Karen out front, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Matt answered again, and Foggy left, closing the door gently behind him. Water or donut first? Matt forced himself to take a sip of the water. Cold. Filtered. So, so good. And then the donut. He picked it up, smelled it, took a bite, savoring. The chocolate, the soft bread. He tried not to eat it too quicky, but his stomach rumbled. Benny didn't like the hassle of keeping him fed.

Foggy seemed like a decent person. If Foggy wanted to clean him up first, he'd have a few days before being taken to the auction house. 

What if he could convince Foggy to keep him?

p>


	3. Chapter 3

Matt waited in the empty office, taking bites from the donut Foggy gave him, and sips of water, making both last as long as possible. The radio station the office manager, Karen, was listening to periodically read out the time. He listened to the music, to Karen typing at the computer, to Foggy writing at his desk.

He wondered again how long Foggy would take to ‘clean him up’ for resale, and contemplated what kind of things he could do to convince Foggy he’d be worth keeping. He could clean. He could answer the phone, or make coffee runs, anything.

He was done with Fogwell’s Gym. Done with the slave-fighting rings.

Fogwell’s Devil would never fight again.

There would be no pit fights, no cage fights, no snuff battles. Matt would never have to listen to another man’s heart slow until it stopped under his hand.  

Matt listened in on Foggy’s meeting with his client. Mr. Anderson, who had gotten into a drunken brawl at a local bar and the prosecutor was trying to get him charged with attempted murder with a deadly weapon, sure, he’d picked up the chair, but he hadn’t hit anyone with it. The meeting ended, Mr. Anderson left, and Foggy stayed in his office for another ten minutes, typing, arranging papers.

“Karen?” Matt listened as Foggy walked over to his office managers desk. “Did you find out what I asked? Paperwork for Matthew's registration and licensing and stuff?”

She picked up a bundle of papers. “Registration, insurance and licensing. The forms are all in there, all you have to do is fill them out.”

“Thanks, I’ll take him home and get him cleaned up so we can get a better idea what we’re working with. See you tomorrow.” 

\---

Matt carried his duffle bag, and Foggy walked at his side with his hand on Matt’s upper arm. It wasn’t the best guiding method, but it was better than being led around in chains. He was glad Foggy was guiding him because the balancing act between paying attention to his surrounds, and being hyper focused on his new owner was wrecking havoc with his perceptions.

Having a new owner was both exhilarating and terrifying. It was a relief to be away from Fogwell and Benny, but not knowing anything about Foggy Nelson was unsettling. At the law office, his new owner had seemed reasonable enough, but what if he was an entirely different person in the privacy of his home?

He couldn’t be worse than Fogwell, or Benny.

And even if it was going to be temporary, Foggy Nelson was still his new owner, and Matt needed to pay attention.

“Okay, so there’s going to be a few things we need. Benny didn’t pack you a toothbrush did he?”

Like that, for example. It would help if he knew if Foggy was sincere, or if he was annoyed. But, his heart was steady and other than knowing that Foggy wasn’t lying, it told him nothing. “No, sorry.”

Foggy shrugged. “I just shrugged. Alright, so toothbrush, deodorant, what else?”

Foggy didn’t seem to be annoyed at all, not about the time it took to shop and brainstorm the things Matt might need, nor about the money spent on those items. It didn’t make sense. If Foggy just intended to resell him as quickly as he could, why bother pretending to be nice? 

After shopping, they walked the rest of the way to Foggy’s apartment. Someone called out, Hello, and Foggy answered back, he seemed to know a lot of people in the neighborhood; he appeared to be friendly with everyone. Matt could hear the wind rushing over the roof and around the corners of the apartment building, five stories tall, brick, with small windows. Foggy unlocked the front door, and as soon as they entered the hallway, the scent of suppers cooking in various apartments assailed his senses. It smelled so good, and his stomach growled. Was it loud enough for Foggy to hear? To Matt’s ears, it felt like the entire block should have heard it. He wondered if Foggy planned to feed him supper.

But. Foggy had given him a donut; surely that meant he intended to feed him. Foggy’s apartment was on the fourth floor. There were kids in the apartment above, running, he could hear them laughing. They sounded happy. On the counter, there were empty beer bottles, dirty dishes in the sink, and a laundry basket of clean but unfolded clothes on the floor beside the couch. And lots of dust.

Matt allowed himself to feel a little bit of hope. Obviously, Foggy needed someone to help him. Matt had lived in a house as a caregiver to an elderly woman before being sold to Fogwell. He didn’t mind domestic chores. It had felt good to take care of someone.

That was what Matt could do for him, keep the apartment clean. If Foggy got used to Matt doing things for him, then maybe he’d be more reluctant to sell him. Matt could make himself more valuable than the price Foggy would get for him.

But, he’d heard Foggy tell Karen he needed to pay the rent. Having Matt clean his house for him wasn’t going to get the rent paid.

It was a strange feeling to be alone with someone he was unfamiliar with. He felt a little bereft as Foggy let go of his arm to switch on some lights, Matt heard the electrical buzz associated with lightbulbs and Foggy put his attaché case down in the corner.

The duffle bag was lifted out of his hand and placed aside as well, and then Foggy took his arm again and led him across the room to the kitchen table to sit down.

“Okay. So this is awkward,” Foggy said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “I’m sorry about the death of your former owner, by the way. That’s- I read the police report. Did you belong to him for a long time?”

Matt nodded. “Yes,” he murmured.

“Did they let you go to the funeral or anything?”

Matt shook his head, no, and tried not to fidget with the edge of the table. No one at Fogwell’s had even asked him if he _would_ like to go to the funeral. Foggy got up, glasses clinked in the cupboard, and the tap ran with water, two glasses were placed on the table, papers were pulled out of his case and sat back down.

“Go ahead and drink if you want,” Foggy said as he sorted through the sheets on the table, spreading them out in front of him. “We’ve got some forms to go through, and questions I guess, let me know if everything is accurate,” and narrated as he filled out the transfer of registration and licensing papers. “Insurance forms, your medical history doesn’t have a lot on it. Are you healthy? Are you taking any medications?”

“I'm healthy, no medications,” Matt said.

“Perfect. Hm, you’re overdue for a check-up. We’ll have to get that done as soon as possible, but maybe after you’ve healed up a bit. Those bruises look painful; do you want an aspirin or Tylenol or anything?”

Matt shook his head, no. Pills were risky; he never knew for sure if what he was being given was what he was told it would be.

Foggy put down the pen and stretched. “Any food allergies or anything?”

“No, sir.”

“Just Foggy,” Foggy said. “I’m not a big fan of the whole ‘sir’ or ‘master’ thing.” He stood up, “You can go ahead and take a shower while I start on supper. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.” And he grasped Matt’s arm again and led him down the hall. “Bathroom here, the bedroom is across from it. Towels and linens are in this closet here. Do you have- uh- any other injuries under your clothes I should know about?”

“Just the bruises,” Matt answered.

“Good. I mean, not _good_ but, you understand me. I hope.” Foggy took a breath, then edged past Matt further into the bathroom. “Shampoo and soap and in the tub, I put the towel on the counter here for you. The tap, just turn it to the right until you find a comfortable temperature and then pull it towards you to start the shower. Am I missing anything? Oh, I’ll grab some fresh clothes for you and put them on the counter while you’re washing.” 

Matt nodded, and Foggy walked out, shutting the door behind him, and Matt smiled at the prospect of getting clean. Benny had unlocked him from the ankle chain only twice a day so he could go to the bathroom. Showers had been out of the question.

But now, Foggy was letting him shower, he hadn’t been told not to use hot water, he was getting fresh clothes, and Foggy was making supper… Matt unbuckled his collar and placed it aside before stepping into the shower and washed as quickly and thoroughly as he could, using both the soap and shampoo. He heard the door open and something placed on the counter beside the towels, fresh clothes? Matt finished, and reached for the towel, it was soft, fluffy. One of Foggy’s own towels, not even something old. The clothes, sweatpants, and a T-shirt. Underwear, and socks. Matt put it all on, the smell of Fogwell's Gym now replaced with the smell of _Foggy._  Matt rinced off his collar in the sink and dried it off before putting it back on,cleaned up the bathroom as much as he could, and ventured back out into the apartment.  Foggy was in the kitchen, water was boiling, tomato sauce. Spaghetti? 

“Oh, hey,” Foggy said when he saw him. “Take a seat at the table, supper will be ready in a minute.” 

Matt sat in the same seat Foggy had placed him in before. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Nope.”

There was a click as the element was turned off, the pot was lifted and drained into the sink, Matt heard Foggy stirring the sauce in with the noodles. Plates, cutlery. And then a plate was set in front of him. Foggy was letting him eat at the same time he was. Matt felt nervous, unsure if he should wait or-

“Dig in,” Foggy said.

They ate silently for a few minutes. Then Foggy’s breathing changed, ready to say something. “When’s the last time you were fed?”

“You gave me a donut.”

“Before that.”

“Yesterday. There were some leftovers. Thank you for supper.”

“Yeah,” Foggy said. He was quiet again for a while. “Are you sure you’re okay? Those bruises, Benny did that to you?”

Matt nodded as he kept eating. He wasn’t sure how long Foggy would let him keep his plate; he wanted to eat as much as he could before it was taken away.

“Does it hurt?” Foggy asked.

Matt stopped eating. “Does what hurt?”

“The bruises.”

“Not really. They’re just bruises,” Matt answered. “They won’t keep me from working,” Matt assured him. “I like working,” he said. “I could help you clean. I did the cleaning at Fogwell’s. I can cook, too.”

Foggy got up a moment and grabbed a notebook, his pen scraped against the paper, “Okay, that’s great. Cleaning, cooking. What else can you do?”

Matt swallowed another bite of spaghetti. Foggy was writing it down? “Before Fogwell, I was given to an elderly woman by her family, to keep her company and take care of her while she was sick.”

Foggy paused, then wrote something. “Anything else? Can you read?”

“Braille,” Matt answered. “And I know how to use a slate and stylus. I can type. There are computer programs that read the screen, and I can take notes. Fogwell had me type things for him.” Matt bit his lip. “I can take dictation and answer phones. I can help you at your law office.” 

“Matthew,” Foggy put the pen down. 

“Matt. You can call me Matt if you want.”

“Matt. You know I can’t keep you, right? I’m barely making ends meet as it is, I can’t afford to take care of another person.”

Matt was silent. He was suddenly not very hungry anymore. He’d known Foggy wasn’t going to keep him, it shouldn’t have hurt to hear it spoken out loud.

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure you go somewhere decent. I’m not going just to dump you off at a pawnbroker or anything. I’ll take care of you until I find you a good place to go.”

Matt nodded. “Until then,” he said. “Until you sell me, can I work for you?”

“Yeah, of course. It will look good on your registration to have some office experience, right?” 

Matt nodded again. As long as he was with Foggy, then he’d still have a chance of proving himself worthy to keep. 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Foggy contemplated his slave carefully. He looked at the list of tasks he’d just made. Cleaning, cooking, caregiver/companion. It wasn’t a lot. Was there a niche market for blind slaves? It obviously wasn’t going to help Matt’s marketability.

“May I clean up the dishes for you?” Matt asked.

“Yes,” Foggy answered and watched Matt carefully collect the dishes and take them to the kitchen sink. “You seem to be able to find your way around.”

Matt thanked him. “I pay attention. I’ve learned how to map out my surroundings.” 

Foggy pulled out the registration papers again. He’d never owned a slave before, but he had clients who did, and he was familiar with the legal aspects of ownership. Actually owning a slave, though, handling a slave? That was a different story altogether. Slave ownership was prevalent, and everyone had opinions. He’d seen the reality shows; Obedience Busters, and Super Trainer. He couldn’t say he didn’t have his own views on the proper way to do things. He didn’t believe in the heavier handed methods of training and correction. Whenever he saw a slave being beaten or whipped, he turned away. He didn’t want to do any of those things. 

Online, he’d found a website for new owners and a list of recommendations on how to create a healthy relationship with new slaves.  Old bonds and behaviours needed to be broken so that new ones could be established. It recommended starting with a clean slate by going through a recalibration, or re-education process by stripping the slave, physically and mentally, and placing them in an empty room. Keep them isolated and become their only provider of food and human contact. Choose a new name, and slowly reintroduce privileges (such as water, food, bathroom breaks, clothing) as time progresses.

He’d always told himself if he had a slave, he would want to train the slave in such a way that the slave would want to work for him. He’d use positive reinforcement, and praise. Honey instead of vinegar.

Matt had been with Fogwell for twelve years, it stood to reason that a new owner would be grateful to have the re-education process already started.

When Matt finished doing the dishes, he came back to the table, and Foggy told him to sit down.

“Have any of your previous owners re-educated you, Matt?”

Matt nodded. “Yes, sir- Foggy.”

He couldn’t afford to take a week away from the office or to enroll Matt into an obedience training school.

“So, you know the procedure?”

Matt shook his head, no. “I’m sorry, each time has been different.”

“Your registration papers say you haven’t always been a slave. Do you remember what your name was when you were free?”

Matt nodded. “Matthew.”

“You’ve never been renamed before?”

“Yes, I’ve been renamed three times. Master Fogwell re-named me Matthew. He knew my father, and wanted everyone to know who I had been.”

It had been done to humiliate, of course, but Foggy wasn’t sure what the slave thought about it. There was a reason slaves were re-named on a regular basis, it helped them cut their ties with their previous masters, or in Matt’s case, with his previous life as a free person. “Is there a name you would like to have?”

“May I keep my name?”

 Foggy considered it. On one hand it was a bad idea, it might prevent Matt from moving forward from his previous ownership. On the contrary, allowing Matt to keep his name would be a powerful negotiation tool.

“How about, if you behave for me, I’ll rename you from Matthew to Matt. Does that sound like something we could work with?”

“Thank you,” Matt answered.

Foggy smiled, feeling like he was off to a good start. “Now, the next step is to break you from old routines so that you’ll be comfortable adapting to a new household. I don’t have a space we can use as a decent isolation room.” He’d seen on Super Trainer once, about how all slaves had different learning languages. Some needed stern coercion to be bent to their masters will, while others only needed small incentives. It was generally the slaves who had been consistently beaten down who responded best to incentives. Thinking on how Matt had responded to the simple kindness of being given a donut earlier in the day, Foggy’s guess was that Matt was of the latter variety.

“I’m going to take your collar off you.” Foggy reached over and undid the buckle and removed the leather collar from around Matt’s neck. “I’ll give you a new collar when we’re done with your isolation and you’re ready to move forward.”

There was an ankle restraint and cable in the duffle bag. The minimum recommended time for rehabilitative isolation was three days. He didn’t suspect it would be necessary to go longer than that, whatever routine Matt had with Fogwell had apparently ended with the old man’s death, and Benny didn’t seem the type to waste time on specific training.

Slavery psychologists insisted the ritual of recalibrating to a new owner was a cleansing experience for slaves and after what he’d been through, Foggy was sure Matt could use a fresh start.

The idea was to establish a bond of trust between the slave and the owner and give Matt a chance to adapt to being taken care of by someone new.

“Do you understand what we are going to do?” 

“Yes. You’re going to teach me how to be yours,” Matt answered.

“Not mine. But I want you to let go of the past so you will be ready to become someone new. If you are good for me, I’ll let you keep your name, and I’ll make sure you go to the best place possible. Will you be good for me, Matt?”

“Yes, Foggy.”

“Excellent. For the next three days, you’ll go through isolation and I’ll take care of you. Now, go to the bathroom, use the toilet, wash your hands, and brush your teeth.” 

Foggy watched Matt make his way down the hall, his hand trailed along the wall as he walked, counting his steps carefully. Foggy followed and supervised. New slaves should never be allowed too much privacy. After Matt had washed his hands, Foggy placed the toothbrush in his hand and squeezed out a generous amount of toothpaste. “Brush your teeth for three minutes. I’ll time it for you. Then spit.” He timed it.

After he was done, Foggy led him back to the living room and told him to sit down on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him. He rolled up the cuff of the sweatpants on Matt’s right leg and paused. There were healing scabs and scars around his ankle.

“Do you pull on your restraints?” Foggy asked.

“I try not to. I got- I tried to reach Master Fogwell when he choked. I tried, but I couldn’t.”

Foggy felt a little sick. He hadn’t realised Matt had been in the same room as his late master when he’d choked to death.  

He checked the left ankle; there were some old scars, but otherwise unmarked, and locked the cuff on that ankle instead. Then he secured the other end of the cable to the old couch, wrapping it around the armrest and locking it in place.

“You may sleep on the sofa. I’ll be back to take care of you in the morning,” Foggy said and went to bed.

He didn’t get much sleep that night. It wasn’t that he thought Matt was going to free himself kill him in his sleep or anything like that, but it was still weird having someone in the house he didn’t know.

In the morning, Foggy forced himself to take his time before checking on his slave. He went to the bathroom, made himself some coffee and then went and released the ankle restraint and allowed Matt to use the bathroom as well. He told him to wash his hands and come to the kitchen.

“Would you like me to make you breakfast?” Matt asked.

That wasn’t a bad idea. Foggy got up and led Matt over to the kitchen, showing him where everything was. The toaster, the bread box, necessary items in the fridge, the cutlery drawer. “I’d like two slices of toast, and then make some for yourself as well.” 

Not exactly a complicated breakfast, but he couldn’t forget the slave was blind. Baby steps. If Matt could manage to make toast, next time he’d ask for something more complicated.

“Where did you grow up, Matt?”

“Here, in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Really?  Me too.”  Foggy got a glass of tap water for Matt and poured himself a cup of coffee and then leaned against the counter. “What was your last name?”

Matt’s shoulders twitched a bit, Foggy guessed it was a painful question to answer. Slaves tended to be sensitive about their former names.

“Murdock.”

“Matthew Murdock?” Foggy asked. “You’re the kid who pushed that old guy out of the way of the truck and got his peepers knocked out, aren’t you?”

Matt frowned. “They weren’t knocked out.”

“Right, that’s when you were blinded, though, wasn’t it? From the accident?”

Matt nodded.

Shit. Foggy remembered that. The kid had been a hero. What the hell had he done to deserve being enslaved?  He placed a couple of plates on the counter beside the toaster.

The toaster popped. Matt pulled the slices out and buttered them, passing one to Foggy. “Come sit with me at the table.”

Matt sat down, waiting.

“Go ahead, eat,” Foggy urged him. “Your dad was a boxer wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Did he train at Fogwell’s? That’s what you meant about Fogwell having known your dad?”

“Yes.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence.

When they were done, Foggy placed Matt back into the ankle restraint and got ready for work, releasing him one more time so that he could go to the bathroom again before leaving for the office.

“Where’s your slave?” Karen asked as Foggy walked in.

“In isolation. I’m working on getting him ready to sell.” Foggy hung up his jacket. “Do you think I should have brought him here instead?”

Karen shrugged. “He’s your slave, you can do what you want with him.”

Foggy sighed. “It's not like I’ve ever done anything like this before. Have you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Really? Are you serious? Why didn’t you say so?”

She shrugged again. “It’s not something I like to talk about.”

Oh. “I was thinking of working with him kind of like how we groom a client for taking the stand in court. Prepare him, clean him up, get him a haircut and some new clothes. Maybe we could train him in the office a bit to add office experience to his registration. I want to make sure we find him a nice place to go to after. Someone who will take care of him.”

Karen narrowed her eyes. “You’re not getting attached already are you?”

“No,” Foggy insisted. “But I feel responsible for him, you know?”

Karen sighed. “Don’t. You can’t control what his new owners will be like after they buy him. He’s just a slave, whatever happens to him isn’t your concern. You’ll only get hurt if you let yourself care.”

Foggy didn’t like the sound of that at all.

 


	5. Chapter 5

On Karen’s advice, Foggy picked up a slave training starter kit on the way home. She told him to read the handbook, follow the instructions. Don’t try to make things up as you go along. There are steps to follow for a reason. It was more expensive than he would have liked and he ended up using his credit card, but the sales clerk assured him it was the most complete and comprehensive re-education system available.

He hadn’t been able to get back to the apartment at noon to feed the slave or let him go to the toilet, but Matt seemed calm and thankful when Foggy got home after work. Foggy set him free to use the bathroom. The steps in the starter kit recommended that training should be done on an empty stomach and to follow a routine of exercise, discipline, and then reward. The exercise was especially important to tire out slaves who were restrained in the day to avoid the onset of anxiety and restlessness.

After returning from the washroom, Foggy directed Matt into the center of the room away from furniture and told him to do jumping jacks, and Matt readily complied. While he was doing that, Foggy sorted through his registration papers again, making a list of things he still needed to do. A temporary license and tag, medical checkup, appraisal. He wondered if he still would have agreed to take the slave instead of payment if he’d known how much work it was going to be.

But, the investment should still be worth it. Matt had a lot of potential. He was good looking, fit. He had an excellent disposition so far and seemed eager to comply with orders. He tuned out the sound of Matt doing his exercise and opened up the starter kit.

He had already done most of the first steps wrong. Initial training should take over a week. Isolation was supposed to be completed in a small cage. Well, Foggy didn’t have a cage, and he didn’t want a cage in his apartment. The slave was supposed to be stripped and without any comfort for at least twenty-four hours. Foggy reasoned that he had taken Matt’s clothes away and replaced them, that was the same wasn’t it? The couch was kind of like sleeping on a bare floor.

And it wasn’t like he was keeping the slave. What would it matter if he skipped a few steps? He just needed to get him ready to sell to a new master who would probably just go through the training all over again.

Everyone said re-educating was the most vital part of a new master-slave relationship, and it made the slave more comfortable in their current situation. If they weren’t re-educated, they couldn’t let go of past conditioning from their former master and would end up confused and possibly pine for their old ways. Who was he to say what was right when it came to slaves. He’d never had a slave before. The experts weren’t just making stuff up.

Apparently the best way to establish dominance and loyalty was to practice discipline exercises. Foggy read through the suggestions, feeling progressively more ill at ease. It read more like torture than training. What kind of shit was this? What kind of professionals would suggest putting a human being through this kind of bullshit?

He was supposed to deny all food and only hand feed his new slave for the first three days, after which, carefully control the amount of nutritional intake over the following week to keep it (why did the manual keep referring to slaves as _it)_ on the edge of hunger to encourage compliance.

One of the exercises consisted of securing his new slave into a stress position; kneeling on rice with a resistance rope around the ankles, wrists, and neck for increasing periods of time, and then release and offer rewards.

Another exercise was sensory deprivation followed by positive attention.

Position the slave on a blanket, place incentives just out of reach and punish quickly with a rod if they leave the blanket, praise when they return to it.

It all sounded sadistic. Why would he deliberately hurt a slave who seemed intent on behaving and following orders? He didn’t want to read any more of it at the moment; he’d have to decide what to do later.

He pushed the starter kit aside and pulled out Benny’s file instead. Fogwell had had two slaves registered to him, one of them had escaped at the time of his death. Escaped slaves were a matter for the police. Foggy had done what he needed to do to legally transfer ownership to Benny should the slave ever be recaptured, but that was as far as his interest had gone. Foggy opened up Benny’s file and sorted through it again. Police reports indicated that Fogwell died of choking on a bone, no foul play was suspected. There was no mention of Matt in the report because slaves couldn’t make statements, which was why Foggy hadn’t realised Matt had been in the same room with his master as he died. It certainly explained the ankle injuries. Fogwell had been Matt’s master for twelve years. It must have been horrible to be restrained and unable to offer aid to his master while he choked to death.

He looked up briefly, Matt was only a little out of breath, and he didn’t seem too tired yet, he checked the time. Twenty minutes. He went back to the paperwork. The second slave. It didn’t have an official name other than its registration number, which sadly wasn’t that unusual. The official Slave Bureau seal was authentic. Foggy cross checked the broker number with the registration site. The number on the form didn’t match the name. He checked again. How had he missed that earlier?

That couldn’t be right.

Most brokerages had irregular hours and opened late. Foggy checked the website, and discovered the office would be open for another fifteen minutes, he called the office number.

_“Sewell Lance Brokerage, how may I help you?”_

“Hi could you connect me with Mr. Marcello please?”

There was a pause. _“Sorry sir, there’s no agent by that name working for us.”_

“Was he part of your firm five years ago?”

There was silence again for a moment. _“I have no record of that name ever being employed at our office, sir.”_

Foggy thanked the receptionist and hung up. That was interesting. A fake broker but an authentic bureau seal. The police had been looking for an escaped slave, not a forgery.

Foggy looked up again. Oh, right. Forty minutes.  Matt was definitely out of breath now. “You can stop.”

Matt stopped, breathing heavily. 

“There was a second slave at Fogwell’s Gym.”

It took a moment for Matt to process the information, he seemed caught off guard and apprehensive but he answered the question nonetheless. “Yes, sir- sorry. Foggy.”

“What were his duties?”

“Fogwell used him for slave-fighting. He was kept in the cellar.”

“Do you know where Fogwell got him from?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

Foggy got up and walked up to where Matt was standing. “Benny wanted that slave. Is that why he beat you? For information?”

“I don’t know anything.”

He waited a minute to give Matt a chance to give him more information, but the slave said nothing. “Why did Benny want him so badly?”

“He’s worth more than I am,” Matt answered simply.

“Fair enough,” Foggy took Matt’s arm and led him to the bathroom. “Have a quick shower, and the I’ll feed you some supper.” 

Foggy listened to the shower start and then dug out another old pair of his fresh sweat pants and t-shirt to replace the clothes Matt had been wearing. He needed to figure out supper. Cooking for two people was different than just cooking for himself but Matt hadn’t had anything to eat all day. He also doubted Benny had been giving Matt regular meals, and he didn’t like the idea of someone in his care going hungry. Frozen chicken and vegetables. A pouch of sauce for stir-fry. He pulled it out and heated up the frying pan.

The shower was quick. The chicken wasn’t even thawed by the time Matt came out. Foggy turned from the oven and glanced at him running his hand over the open box of the slave training starter kit tools he’d left open on the table.

“Matt?”

Matt jumped and turned toward him, quickly pulling his hands away from the table and placing them behind his back.

“Come and stir this for me. About five steps forward.”

Matt walked forward until Foggy touched his arm, and then guided him into place in front of the oven. He took Matt’s hand and placed it on the handle of the frying pan, and then put the spoon into his other hand. “Do you think you can do this without getting burned?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. The chicken is frozen still, but I’ll come back and check periodically. Do you think you’d be able to tell if it starts to burn or anything?” Foggy asked and watched Matt supress a grin.

“Yes. I can do that.” Matt answered. “Thank you for allowing me to shower and wear fresh clothes.”

“Your welcome,” Foggy patted his shoulder and moved a couple of steps over to the counter to prepare the sauce packet. Once that was done he set it aside and went over to the kitchen table to clear off the papers and the starter kit he had spread out there.

“The chicken is ready,” Matt called over.

Foggy gently moved him over while he added the bag of frozen vegetables and sauce, then back to where he had been, guiding his hands again to the handle of the pan and the spoon, not wanting his blind slave to be groping around a hot pan with bare hands. He set the table, and by the time he was done Matt called him again, asking him to check the vegetables. They were done. He led Matt over to the table to sit down and then scooped half of the food into each plate.

“You want me to eat?” Matt asked quietly.

“Yes. I told you I’d make supper while you were in the shower.”

It wasn’t until he was sitting that he realised Matt seemed hesitant to eat, his hands placed carefully in his lap.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Then eat.” 

Matt licked his lips. “What would you like me to eat, Foggy?” he asked very carefully.

“The food we just made,” Foggy said, picking Matt’s hand up out of his lap and pressing the fork against his fingers.

Matt’s hand moved very slowly as he scooped a potion of stir-fry onto his fork, waiting a moment, and then bringing it up to his mouth. Foggy watched him chew and swallow. The look on his face akin to someone about to be pushed out a window.

“Is there something wrong with the food?” Foggy asked.

“The food is perfect. Thank you,” Matt answered. The knuckles of his hand holding the fork were white.

“Matt? Are you sick?”

He shook his head, no. “I want to be good for you.”

“You’re doing really well.”

“May I ask you a question, Master Foggy?” 

“Yes, of course,” Foggy said, not bothering to correct Matt about the master this time, the guy was already freaked out enough as it was. 

“Why are you letting me eat?”

Foggy sighed. “Because you’re hungry. I haven’t ever trained a slave before, Matt, but you don’t seem the type to need hunger to induce good behavior. What do you think I’m going to do?”

Matt cleared his throat. “A discipline exercise. The slave is encouraged to eat a real meal with the master at the table, it is then given emetics to induce vomiting to expel food that should not been eaten and is punished appropriately for participating in an activity it did not deserve.”

“Has that been done to you before?”

Matt turned pale. “I am sorry, Master Foggy, I should not speak of past masters or households, and I should not attempt to guess the discipline exercise you are teaching me. The slave will eat the food you order it to eat,” Matt said quietly and picked up the fork and ate another mouthful. 

Foggy caught his hand before he could bring it up to his mouth again. “I’m not going to punish you for doing something I asked you to do. You deserve this food, go ahead and eat,” he tried to reassure him.

“Thank you, master,” Matt answered, but he was eating slowly, and he was shivering ever so slightly.

“Okay. Stop,” Foggy said, and Matt froze. “You need to calm down. I’m not planning on torturing you, so just stop.”

“Yes, master,” Matt put down the fork.

“I didn’t mean stop eating,” Foggy raised his voice in exasperation, and Matt quickly picked the fork back up and took another bite of food. “Stop being scared of me; I’m not going to do anything terrible to you.”

And of course, yelling at the person who was terrified of him to _stop being terrified_ was probably the worst thing he could have done.

“Please,” Matt murmured, “Tell me what you would like me to do.”

Foggy sighed. “I want you to relax and eat your supper.” Matt did not look convinced. “Okay. Fine. Are you going to be able to eat anything more?”

And, by the look of things, Matt with his head bowed, posture stiff, yes they were done.

Foggy picked up Matt’s plate and scraped it into a plastic container to put in the fridge. He was going to let Matt calm down, and then maybe he could try feeding him again later.

“Okay, Matt. We’re done.” Foggy said. He placed his hand on Matt’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Please, may I go to the bathroom?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

Matt stood up so suddenly the chair fell backward, but he didn’t stop to put it right, he practically raced down the hall to the bathroom where Foggy heard the toilet lid flip open followed by the sound of heaving.

Foggy followed him in and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Matt was on his knees, and his body curled forward again as another bout of retching. When he finished he leaned forward, resting his head on the rim of the toilet bowl, and Foggy reached over and flushed. He pulled Matt by the shoulders, sitting him up, and grabbed a handful of toilet paper to wipe his face.

“Is that everything?” 

Matt squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes.”

Foggy helped him up and took him across the hall to his bedroom. “You’ve got some on your shirt. Arms up.” Foggy helped Matt take off his t-shirt, and then pulled another one out of his drawer and passed it to him. “Go ahead, put it on. I want to make something clear right away. I did not put anything in your food to make you sick.”

“I know you didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Okay good. Just so you know, we’re putting an end to this tonight.”

“Yes, master Foggy.”

“Enough with the master. Just Foggy, remember?”

“Yes, Foggy.”

“Better. Okay. Let’s get you back to the living room.” He took Matt’s arm and led the way down the hall, sat him down on the couch. Matt lifted his pant leg for Foggy affix the restraint.

“No way, man. If you get sick again I don’t want you fastened to the sofa.” He went to the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. “Drink slow, okay? Lie down,” Foggy said and went back down the hall and grabbed a couple blankets and a pillow from the linen closet before coming back. He shook the blanket out and placed it over Matt, and then pushed the pillow under his head. “Do you need anything?”

“Are you taking me to the pawn broker?” he asked.

“No.”

“Does that mean you’re giving me another chance?” Matt asked hopefully.

Foggy sat down beside the couch. “Chance for what?”

“To be re-educated. I can do better.”

“No need, you pass. You are officially re-educated,” Foggy said. “Tomorrow I’m bringing you to the office. I want you to get some experience working with Karen. You’re an investment, remember. Everything will be fine.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Matt lay on the couch with the blanket and the pillow, feeling sick and embarrassed and confused.

Re-education was an important ritual for bonding masters and slaves, and he’d apparently failed so miserably that Foggy hadn’t even followed through more than one day. He should have known better than to question his new master. It was a stupid mistake to make.

He needed to remember at all times that he belonged to Foggy now. Even if only in his thoughts, his master deserved a title.

Master Fogwell had tested him often. All slaves needed to be reminded of their place. The tests were never comfortable; they were designed to trick him, to lull him into a sense of security so that he would break the rules. Rules were meant to be followed. Breaking the rules resulted in quick and brutal discipline.

It was important always to be vigil.

Master Foggy was sweet. Master Fogwell would have…

But no. Master Foggy was not Master Fogwell. Master Fogwell was dead. He wasn’t Master Fogwell’s slave named Matthew anymore, he was Master Foggy’s slave, and his name was Matt. Whatever lessons Master Foggy wanted to teach him, he would do his best to learn them.

By overreacting to dinner, he’d already ruined the first lesson Master Foggy wanted to show him.

Matt listened to the sounds of his master cleaning up in the kitchen. He should be the one doing that. He needed to prove to Master Foggy that he could be re-educated. If he had the chance to do it over, he would let Foggy feed him whatever he wished, and then accept his discipline with grace.

If Master Foggy wanted Matt to experience discipline for not helping in the kitchen, and for sleeping on a soft couch with a pillow and blanket, that was Master Foggy’s choice, it was not Matt’s place to question.

He needed to obey. He needed not to think about the discipline that would be used. Fogwell had-

But that was the point of re-educating wasn’t it? To break free from previous training and learn how to behave for his new master. He shouldn’t think about Master Fogwell or second guess what Master Foggy would do based on his past master’s methods. He needed to allow himself to be a blank slate, to accept his new role as Master Foggy’s slave.

“Are you doing okay?” Master Foggy asked from the kitchen.

Matt quickly considered an appropriate response and then stopped himself. He was second guessing again.

Foggy’s footsteps came closer, and he knelt down.

Would this be it? Matt waited.

Nothing happened. “I saved your supper for you. When you feel ready to eat, let me know, and I’ll heat it up and you can try again.” 

“I can try and eat again?”

“Yeah. Do you feel up to it?”

“Yes, thank you.” Matt sat up as Foggy took his arm and carefully offered no resistance as he was led back to the table and sat down in the chair Foggy indicated. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t fight down the icy dread building up within him. But, no, this was good, it was right. The way it should be.

The fridge door opened, and the plastic container removed, placed in the microwave, reheated. The food was even placed onto a plate. Cutlery. It was put in front of him. He needed not to make himself sick from stress this time. 

Foggy was his owner now. The sooner he learned to be disciplined by him the better.

“Go ahead, eat,” Foggy instructed.

Matt ate. Carefully. Cautious not to fumble at the food, to eat politely. Using cutlery still felt odd, it had been rare that Master Fogwell had bothered to give him a fork or a spoon, but he remembered his lessons well, the master before Master Fogwell had trained him how to be polite and eat with proper manners.

“Are you feeling okay?” Foggy asked.

“Yes, thank you,” There was no odd taste in the food. Nothing that Foggy had added, no drugs to make him sleep or make him sick. Just food.

It took time, and Matt was careful to eat slow so as not to seem greedy and when the plate was done, Foggy took it from the table and placed it in the sink. The fridge door opened, liquid poured into a glass, and the glass was put on the table.

“You’re not lactose intolerant are you?”

“I’m not.”

“Okay,” Master Foggy took his hand and placed the glass in it. “Drink, you need the vitamins.”

It was important to be obedient, and so Matt swallowed. The milk was cold, not sour. It didn’t taste anything like the calorie supplements Master Fogwell gave him when he was modifying his weight before a fight. But, he wasn’t supposed to think about Master Fogwell.

He didn’t gulp it, he sipped politely, but quickly because Master Foggy was waiting for him to finish. He placed the glass on the table when he was done, and then waited.

Nothing happened.

Foggy led him back to the couch. He did not restrain him by the ankle. “Lie down and rest.”

Matt tried to sleep on the floor, but Master Foggy stopped him. “On the couch. Use the pillow and the blanket. Relax, okay? Nothing bad is going to happen.”

He lied down.

Master Foggy sat down in the sofa-chair and turned on the TV. Matt tried not to pay attention to the show; he needed to keep his focus only on Foggy, to be ready to serve him when called.

And fell asleep about ten minutes later.

…

Matt woke up suddenly in the night. Master Foggy was gone; the TV was off. He was warm and comfortable on the couch. It wasn’t right. He quietly eased himself to the floor and lied down on the carpet.

…

He woke up again to the sound of Master Foggy’s alarm and sat up. He folded the blanket and placed it and the pillow neatly at the edge of the couch and waited. Just because he wasn’t restrained didn’t mean he was allowed to move. He listened to Master Foggy go through his morning routine and then come to the kitchen.

“Go get yourself ready, shower. Karen doesn’t think I’m capable of buying decent clothes, and so I’m going to take you for a haircut this morning, then she’ll take you shopping after lunch.”

When Matt came out of the shower, the apartment smelled like coffee and eggs. A plate was on the table where he had sat the night before, but he went to the living room and knelt down properly, waiting for permission.

“Come and eat,” Master Foggy called him over, and he went, and Master Foggy guided him down into the chair, placed the fork in his hand. “It’s for you, go ahead.” 

As a lesson, Matt was determined not to fail this time. Don’t think, obey. He let himself enjoy the taste of the food, the pleasure of not being hungry. This was what Master Foggy wanted. After he was done, he placed the fork down on the plate, waited a moment. “May I do dishes?”

“That’s great, thanks,” Master Foggy answered, and before he could reach it, picked up Matt’s plate and took it to the kitchen, leaving Matt to follow. “You can do this?”

“Yes, Foggy,” Matt answered, remembering, this time, to leave out the Master.

Master Foggy patted him gently on the back, and said, “If you need any help, just give me a shout.” 

…

First, before going out, Foggy gave him back his old collar and ID tag. It wasn’t as good as an ear tag would be if Foggy decided to go through the trouble of getting him a temporary license before selling him, but it would be enough keep the Slave Minders from detaining him so long as the free person with him could show a

They went to an actual barber, to Matt’s shock Master Foggy didn’t just order the stylist to shave his head. It was a real cut, complete with having his hair washed, cut, dried, and styled.

“How does it feel?”

Matt reached up, touched the sharp ends of his hair and nodded. “Thank you.”

And then they went to the office.

He felt Karen staring at him. She stood, walked in a circle, “Okay, you were right. We can do something with this,” She said, and Matt tried to suppress the happy feeling he felt inside at the praise.

Master Foggy pulled a chair up to Karen’s desk and led Matt around to sit down, “Today I want you to observe and get a feel for how things work. I already talked to Karen about it, and she’s going to guide you along. Karen?”

“Right, Matt, we’ve got a couple of hours left until lunch,” she began and went over again what Master Foggy had said about observing as Master Foggy went to his office and organized his work there. He paid attention while she answered the phone, scheduled appointments, explaining what she was doing. Preparing billing, calling other offices for follow-ups on cases, filling out forms. A lot of it was stuff he was never going to be able to do, but some of it, he thought he could help, at least, if Master Foggy decided to keep him after all. Karen was kind; she was patient as he dared to ask a couple of questions but he was careful not to speak too much or to disturb her.

At lunch there were sandwiches, Matt was even allowed to choose the kind he’d like, and they let him sit at the table with them and didn’t make him sit in a different room or on the floor.

For the clothes shopping, they didn’t go far. There was a discount store down the street that Karen took him to. He stood still as the clerk took quick measurements and let her know what sizes would be appropriate. There was a pile of things to try on, some that fit comfortably others that were scratchy. What shocked him the most was that Karen asked him how each piece of clothing felt, and she put aside the ones that didn’t feel good.

She settled on three outfits. Soft pants, and shirts that would be appropriate in and out of the office. Things that would make him look smart and well put-together. He felt excited carrying the shopping bags back to the office, and Karen told him he should try the outfits on to show Foggy.

They let him change in the bathroom because the offices had large windows. Matt ran his hand through his hair, nervous and eager to make a good impression. He walked back trailing his hand along the wall, feeling for the doorway, and then walked slowly inside.

Foggy and Karen were standing together in front of her desk, both watching, judging. Matt put on a smile and held his arms out to the sides. “Do I look okay?”

“Perfect, this isn’t going to take nearly as much time as I thought,” Foggy answered and stepped forward, patting him on the shoulder. “Go ahead and sit with Karen for the rest of the day.”

Matt’s heart sank. That wasn’t- that wasn’t what he wanted at all. He’d wanted Foggy to look at him and decide he was worth keeping. He wanted- but that was the thing. He was a slave. It didn’t matter what he wanted.

At the end of the day, Foggy brought him back to the apartment, stopping along the way to buy a collar, letting him feel each of them and placing the ones he liked in a small pile for Foggy to choose from.  It was a soft merino wool band with little clips to hold the ends together. The shopkeeper measured Matt’s neck and cut the ends to fit correctly, his tag fitting snugly in the front slot provided.

Foggy left the leather collar behind for the shop to dispose of.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome, :)


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